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When I’d dropped my printed report onto his lap, he’d ended the call. As if it were a chore to read, he’d exhaled and turned the cover sheet to the first of fifteen identical pages:
I’d turned on my heel and sauntered back to my room.
Ivanna said, “It can’t all be bad.”
“No, it’s not. Sometimes, I like it here with him.” Between Sevastyan and the floors of gun-toting mafiya guards, I felt safer than I had in years. Up in his tower, I was getting used to luxury, to not scrubbing toilets, to gourmet food, to views that went on forever. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a changed woman—skin glowing, eyes clear, dark circles gone.
I was officially recharged and heading toward . . . bored. I hadn’t been bored in three years!
I’d hit the penthouse library (because ten thousand square feet of space meant it had a library). I’d finished novel after novel by the pool. Then I’d discovered on-demand video. I’d found a yoga class. Somehow I got through it. I would never scoff at yoga again.
“Is the sex amazing?” Ivanna asked.
“He puts me . . . he puts me in a chastity belt.” Normally, I’d never tell her about this, but I had to vent.
She gave a throaty laugh. “How unexpected!”
“You aren’t outraged for me? It’s archaic! And I don’t have any clothes. I either wear a shirt of his or go without. So basically I’m left naked and available for his use whenever he wants me.”
“Your accent just thickened, and your voice grew husky. He’s not the only one enjoying your situation.”
I lay back, staring at the ceiling. “All I can think about is him. His body. It’s like I’m drugged. My brain goes on a loop, replaying things we’ve done, imagining things we’ll do. I walk around in this lust-fueled haze.”
“It sounds enchanting.”
“Have you ever had a man put you into chastity?”
She sighed. “I’ve never had one who cared enough to.”
Care? He’d assured me he would toss me out as soon as he was done using me. And where would that leave me? Crushed. “I don’t think that man’s capable of caring. Ivanna, he can be so cold. Por Dios, I’d get whiplash if I tried to keep up with his moods.”
And yet . . . he could also be a dream. This morning when he’d made love to me, he’d pinned my wrists over my head. But then he’d threaded his fingers through mine, locking our hands together.
Lock and key. Intertwined.
The pleasure he continued to give me was indescribable. And in those sweet twilight moments after sex, he drew me like no other man before. Earlier, as we’d caught our breath, he’d confessed, “I have little control with you. Stranger still, I’m making peace with it.” Yet then he’d grown chilly once more.
Ivanna said, “Despite his moods, it seems as if you like him.”
If I was honest with myself, I’d say that I did. I enjoyed his tricky mind and his intensity. His passion. But only an idiot would get attached to a guy like that.
Besides, if I developed feelings for him, then that meant he was trouble. Any impulse I had to like him or trust him should be taken as irrefutable evidence to do neither. You can’t argue with science.
I told Ivanna, “I just want my freedom.”
“Could you fall for him?”
“I . . . maybe?” Idiota! “I don’t want to find out! Which is why I need to get away from him as soon as possible!”
“Why wouldn’t you want him? Cat, are you already involved? Do you have a man?”
One hunting the city to kill me! I gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah. You could say I’m involved with another man.”
“Do tell!”
I sighed. “Another time maybe.”
“Very well. Then let’s think about your end game. With as much access as you’ve been given to Sevastyan, have you learned any scoop to tell me about his past? His deep dark secrets? We could sell such a story.”
“His deep dark secrets? Those are the kind I keep best.”
“So you won’t tell me what he’s doing in Miami?”
If I had to guess, Maksimilian Sevastyan was buying up as much of the city as possible. From what I could glean, Miami was the closest ultra-deep port to the Panama Canal, which meant tons of new shipping traffic for the city—traffic that would demand warehouses, infrastructure, and rail spurs.
Yet I told Ivanna, “He’s here to work on his tan?”
“I see,” she said in a knowing tone. “Chin up. Now that you have a phone, you can call others. Maybe another friend could do more than smuggle in contraband?”
“You’re right. I’ll burn up the wires, dialing everyone I can count on. . . .”
After we’d hung up, I threw my arm over my face, tempted to fling the phone across the room.
I was still friendless. Still trapped in this belt. Trapped with a man who looked forward to the day when he could discard me. I was about to scream with combined frustration when I shot upright, remembering Mrs. Abernathy’s threatening message. Mierda! If she called INS . . .
I dialed the woman up. “Hi, Mrs. Abernathy, it’s Cat. I’m confirming for the thirty-first. Sí, señora. I’ll be there at nine a.m. sharp. Gracias.” My jaw dropped when she started a lecture about work ethics.
Work ethics. From someone who didn’t have a job.
I’d just hung up and hidden the phone in the guest room closet when I heard Sevastyan return.